


Kiss Under the Misteltoe (I'm begging you)

by Nantai



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Abigail is Peter's daughter, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, M/M, Matchmaker Abigail Kamara, Mistletoe, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21953533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nantai/pseuds/Nantai
Summary: Some very indulgent Christmas fluff where Peter spontaneously (or so he thinks) invites Nightingale for Christmas at his parents'. Meanwhile, Abigail and Rose Grant are high-fiving in the back.
Relationships: Peter Grant/Thomas Nightingale
Comments: 5
Kudos: 64





	1. Peter's POV

**Author's Note:**

  * For [utrinque_paratus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/utrinque_paratus/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I planned to post another story first, but my last two weeks became so busy that that didn't work out. I hope you'll nevertheless enjoy this one! :) Merry Christmas. Happy Hannukah. Joyful winter celebrations of any other kind!

I don’t think I ever saw Nightingale celebrate Christmas in all the years we’ve lived right next to each other. Nor did he celebrate Hanukkah or any other winter-themed holiday. So, understandably, I was hesitant when Abigail came home from primary school and said she wanted to give Mr Nightingale the Christmas present she had made in school.

“Miss Baxter said we should give them to people we think would be happy about it,” Abigail explained in all seriousness while I was preparing dinner that night. She was sitting on the counter next to the cutting board and occasionally stole a bit of pepper. “And I already have gifts for you and mummy.” 

I smiled at her. Leslie wasn’t what you’d call a good mum, although she certainly tried. But while she really loved Abigail, her career would always come first and she was quite useless with little children. That was why we had agreed that I would leave the murder team and join the Case Progression Unit, so I would have the time and regular schedule a child would need. Leslie had taken the first half a year off at work and then I had picked up. When my seven months were up my mother had taken over for a few months, during which we got Abigail introduced to the nursery. And even then she would pick her up in the afternoon so I could work full-time. Leslie, of course, paid maintenance, but it was always good to have some extra money coming into the house.

“And Mr Nightingale always looks so sad around Christmas,” Abigail continued with a deep sigh, pulling me out of my thoughts. “I want to make him smile.”

I had to admit that I definitely understood the sentiment - our neighbour did look especially downtrodden during December, and in January one barely saw him at all. I wasn’t even certain whether he walked Toby during that month. 

In summer, he often spent time playing with Toby and Abigail in the courtyard behind the block of flats I moved to after I was officially invited to join the murder team. This autumn, Nightingale had taken both Abigail and me with him out to Herefordshire to visit his old friend Hugh and go looking for mushrooms. Abigail had enjoyed the trip immensely and had spoken of nothing else for weeks. It was the sweetest thing ever. 

While we had gotten to know Nightingale (he insisted I should call him Thomas, but somehow my head wouldn’t quite wrap around that idea) quite well during the last months, I was apprehensive about disturbing him during what were quite clearly months of grief for him. 

As Christmas drew closer I decided to trust Abigail in her feeling that Nightingale would be happy about a gift from a primary schooler. She wondered whether to give him his present on Christmas Eve as she did for her mum or to go over before we left for Christmas dinner at my parents’. 

On Christmas Eve Abigail decided to go over the next day because she wanted to go to bed as soon as she returned home from her mum’s in hopes that Christmas morning would come faster that way. 

My mum called while we ate breakfast at seven. Not that I had _wanted_ to wake up that early, nevermind consuming food. But of course, Abigail was awake at five o’clock and lost her patience with her dear old dad at half-past six. 

At least I managed to convince her to let poor Mr Nightingale sleep in. 

Anyway, my mum wanted to make sure we were really coming and, as she had during every call in the last month, she also tried to convince me to bring Nightingale as well. Ever since Abigail had started telling my mum more about Nightingale after our trip to the countryside, my mum was convinced that I was secretly dating him. Apparently, him being male and Abigail telling her about him were enough criteria for my mum to conclude that he must be my boyfriend. I would be more upset about it if I didn’t remember her doing the same with every girl in my life before I came out as bi to her. 

Mum, of course, had wanted me to marry Leslie, after I got her pregnant, and make an honest woman out of her. (A concept that amused and repulsed us equally. One time drunken sex didn’t qualify us for marriage.) Having one grandchild already on the way, Mum was far less upset about me preferring men than I would have thought. She still told me that I was expected to produce more grandchildren since I was an only child. 

This old argument meant I totally blamed my mum for what happened when Abigail and I went over to talk to Nightingale before we left for my parents’. 

When Nightingale opened the door, holding back the excited Toby with one hand, he looked as pristine as ever, even without his suit jacket. I noted the distinct lack of Christmas music or smells from cooking holiday food. Something in Nightingale’s expression when he saw us gave me pause, but it was gone before I could identify it when he smiled at Abigail’s enthusiastic greeting. 

“Merry Christmas to you too, Abigail,” Nightingale said warmly. “What brings you to my doorstep today?”

“I have a Christmas present for you, Mr Nightingale!” Abigail crowed and pulled out the brightly wrapped gift. It was a tree ornament, a Christmas tree made out of ice cream sticks with buttons for baubles and a small golden star at the top.

“That’s very kind of you, Abigail. But I’m afraid I have nothing for you,” Nightingale admitted, clearly embarrassed by that.

“That’s okay,” Abigail said with a bright smile and bent down to pet Toby. “Christmas is about giving not about receiving.”

I was pretty certain one of Abigail’s teachers must have taught her that bit of Christmas wisdom. Nightingale’s soft smile in response broke my heart a little. Which likely was the other reason why I said what I said next.

“Would you like to join us for Christmas dinner at my mum’s?” I asked before I could stop myself. “She invited you. But of course, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, or have other plans.” I felt my face heat up and cursed my paler winter complexion which likely showed the blush easily. But I didn’t back down and I didn’t continue to babble, which was something at least. 

Nightingale’s eyes widened, but then he slowly nodded with a quick look down at Abigail’s puppy dog eyes (they were truly lethal). “I would very much enjoy that. If it’s alright with you?”

“Of course!” Abigail answered for the both of us before I could. 

I nodded encouragingly when Nightingale looked up at me with an eyebrow raised in question.

“Then I shall get my coat,” Nightingale said with a decisive nod. “Come on Toby, you're staying here. What kind of food is your mother making?” he asked turning back into his flat. Toby followed him, wagging his tail excitedly.

“Um, there's always a roast chicken for my dad,” I answered, somewhat dumbfounded. “And of course Jollof rice, stew and whatever the aunts bring.”

“Excellent, then I might at least have a fitting wine,” Nightingale called out. 

While Nightingale got the wine and his coat I quickly texted my mum to say that he was coming after all. I was thankful she had the tendency to read but not answer to texts. Small mercies, the family would be bad enough if I brought a white, older man around. Even if it was a man like Nightingale, who didn’t look anything but hetero.

Nightingale insisted on driving and I didn’t argue since his motor was a seriously nice Jaguar Mark 2. (Sometimes I wondered whether he should still drive that beauty at all since it was missing most modern safety measures).

We arrived safely at the estate in Kentish Town, and Abigail bounded up the stairs ahead of us as soon as we left the car. Nightingale offered to carry my bag of presents for my parents and since it was light enough, I let him.

Usually, I would give my father a new pair of brand socks, a tradition started when I was far younger and had just gotten my first pocket money. But this year mum had told me to get him a newly released LP, saying that she could never hide it from him because he would sniff it out in seconds. 

I got my mum an LP as well because I had spotted one of her favourite Sierra Leonian artists while shopping for my dad. 

Abigail had taken up crocheting at school, citing boredom, and had made them pot holders, one a nice burnt orange and the other a green you could hear yelling profanities from across the street. 

When we finally reached the door Nightingale stopped and held it open for me, unnecessarily so, but I appreciated the gesture. That was until the giggles of Abigail and my cousins reached my brain. 

Then I remembered my mum’s tradition.

The mistletoe. 

Looking up I saw the blasted thing hanging straight above our heads. Nightingale had followed my eyes up to the ceiling and discovered the mistletoe as well.

“It seems there is nothing for it,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “Abigail, would you take the bag and the wine?”

Abigail was giggling too much, so my mother stepped up with a suspiciously bright smile and took them. 

Thus freed, Thomas Nightingale pulled me closer and kissed me on the lips.

Now, you have to remember that Nightingale...Thomas…was a very fit man in his early forties, and his suits certainly didn’t hurt. And he was so kind towards Abigail, always patient with her, always happy to indulge her thousand questions and teach her something new. Sometimes when I wanted to go out with friends and my mum was busy, Nightingale would even take Abigail for the evening. She was always excited when she got to spend her Friday afternoons with him. 

I might have had a slight crush on my neighbour. And I hadn’t been in a relationship since I started at the Academy. 

I think it was entirely understandable that my brain shut down for a second there while Thomas was kissing me so very sweetly. No tongue, no teeth, but so much sentiment. 

When I came up for air I realised that everyone had left the hallway. I leaned my forehead against Thomas’.

“So, that got a bit out of hand,” I muttered, feeling heat creep up my neck. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be, Peter,” Thomas said, his voice rough and quiet. “Not if you wanted it.”

“I did,” I whispered, trying not to look into those captivating grey eyes. “I don’t know…”

“How about we rejoin your family for the moment and talk later?” Thomas asked with a soft smile. This one looked much more joyful than the earlier one. 

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, reluctantly stepping out of his hold. “We’ll be the talk of the evening though.”

“I think we’ll survive,” Thomas said, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. 

We removed our shoes and closed the front door, before stepping into the living room to brave the combined curiosity of my relatives. 


	2. Abigail's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here you get match making Abigail who really just wants to see her dad happy. Enjoy!

Abigail knew her dad liked men and women. She also knew that her Granny wanted Abigail to have two parents who were there for her. Her mum was always so busy. 

And Mr Nightingale was really nice. He played with Abigail and was never short with her. He showed her real magic, even though he made her promise not to tell anyone. Mr Nightingale also had a dog called Toby who was very yappy and very friendly. And he was a ghost-hunting dog! 

When they had met a Roman ghost in Herefordshire her dad had luckily been busy chasing Toby who had ripped himself loose. That had been the coolest ghost so far in Abigail's opinion. Especially when Mr Nightingale started talking to them in Latin. 

Best off all was of course that Mr Nightingale had never doubted her about the speaking foxes. 

But Abigail knew that she couldn't just tell her dad to tell Mr Nightingale that he liked him. Because Abigail had noticed how her dad looked at Mr Nightingale. He looked at him like Jessica's mum looked at Jessica's dad. 

And sometimes Mr Nightingale looked at her dad like that as well. 

That was why Abigail decided to go talk to Mr Nightingale first. She spent Friday afternoons with him doing her homework so her dad could work longer. Mr Nightingale sometimes tried to help her with her homework, but he wasn't very good at it. This Friday he was doing the crossword in the Guardian. 

"Mr Nightingale," Abigail said, carefully putting her pencil down. "Do you like my dad?" 

"Of course I like your dad, Abigail," Mr Nightingale answered, looking up from his crossword. "Why are you asking?" 

Abigail ignored the question. "But do you like him like my granny likes my granda?" 

Mr Nightingale coughed and blushed. "Again, why are you asking, Abigail?"

Abigail squirmed in her seat. "Because I know my dad really likes you." 

"Why do you think that?" Mr Nightingale asked, sounding a bit strange.

"Because he's really happy around you," Abigail pointed out sensibly. "And he smiles more whenever he talks about you." She kept the thing with the looks to herself, not knowing how to explain it. 

Despite further prying Mr Nightingale only said that he liked her dad. Abigail was still in a huff about that when her granny picked her up on Saturday morning to go to the hairdresser. 

For Abigail that meant insisting that nobody was allowed to touch her hair with anything but scissors and a comb. Maybe some hair oil. But no straightener, be it chemical or other, no hair relaxer, nothing. The hairdresser and her parents had supported Abigail in her choice and her granny had finally caved a year ago. 

On the way there her granny noticed something was bothering Abigail, stopping her and sitting them both down on a nearby bench. "What's up, sweetie?" 

"Dad and Mr Nightingale are being stupid," Abigail pouted, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "They won't admit they like-like each other." 

Granny laughed. "Why do you think that, sweetheart?" 

"They're really happy with each other and they always look at each other like Jessica's mum and dad do," Abigail replied, rolling her eyes because it was so very obvious to her. 

Granny frowned for a moment. "Jessica's parents just married, right?" 

Abigail nodded, confused about what that had to do with anything. But it seemed to decide matters for her granny. 

"Maybe we should invite Mr Nightingale for Christmas then," Granny said, standing up and holding her hand out to Abigail. "Maybe they'll end up under a mistletoe." 

Abigail sniffed derisively at the thought of kissing, but the adults seemed to like to do it when they like-liked each other. 

Having a plan on how to make her dad and Mr Nightingale stop being stupid Abigail felt a lot better and she couldn't wait until Christmas would finally come. 

* * *

Two weeks before Christmas Abigail was making Christmas presents in school and one of her classmates asked whether they could give the present to his elderly neighbour who didn't have any family left and often babysat him. 

The teacher was delighted and said that they absolutely should give presents to whoever they thought would like them. Abigail looked down at the Christmas tree she was making and thought of Mr Nightingale. It would certainly give her an excuse to drag her dad over to his flat on Christmas day and she was sure Mr Nightingale would like it. 

When Abigail told her granny about the plan, Granny thought it sounded perfect. Especially since Abigail's dad had been very resistant to inviting Mr Nightingale so far. Maybe seeing him on Christmas day, all alone in his flat save for Toby, would convince her dad. 

Abigail was of course gleefully delighted when that actually worked and had to keep from stupidly grinning the whole way to her granny's. Once there she ran up the stairs to tell her granny the good news. 

"He came!" Abigail crowed as soon as she saw her granny in the open door. "It worked just like you said." 

Granny laughed and hugged her. "I know, sweetie. Let's go inside and get your coat off." 

Aïsha and Jacob were already waiting for Abigail inside and she greeted her cousins with a quick wave while pulling her coat off and waiting for the old men to come up the stairs. 

Just as Granny had prophesied they ended up under the mistletoe together. Abigail cheered at first but then they wouldn't stop and Granny pulled her and her cousins into the living room. 

Just a minute later her dad and Mr Nightingale entered, holding hands and having matching sheepish smiles on their faces. 

Abigail ran over to hug both of them very tightly. It seemed her plan had worked!  



End file.
